


Vigil

by The_Plaid_Slytherin



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Faith of the Seven, Gen, Knighthood, Post-Siege of Storm's End, Pre-Canon, Religious Rituals
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-31
Updated: 2018-03-31
Packaged: 2019-03-31 23:48:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,917
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13985907
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Plaid_Slytherin/pseuds/The_Plaid_Slytherin
Summary: Davos prepares to be knighted, with help from various sources.





	Vigil

**Author's Note:**

  * For [originally](https://archiveofourown.org/users/originally/gifts).



> I loved the tags you chose! I am really fascinated by the role knighthood plays in Westerosi society, especially the religious role. Thanks for giving me the opportunity to explore that. I hope you enjoy it. :)

Davos' fingers were still throbbing when the siege was broken. At least it was not as great an agony to wear gloves as it had been a few weeks before, though his mind was constantly half on the pain, even as he stood beside Stannis, watching the food wagons roll through the gates of Storm's End.

"I suppose now you will want to see your lands," Stannis said. "I have some in mind that could be yours. On Cape Wrath." He paused. "With my brother now calling himself king, I suppose it is entirely my authority as Lord of Storm's End." 

Davos glanced at the young man next to him. He was still frightfully gaunt, with dark circles under his eyes and a heavy shadow of stubble on his hollow cheeks. 

"When you have the time, my lord. There is hardly any rush." Davos knew little of what one did with lands, though he did not want to appear ungrateful for all Stannis had given him. 

Stannis crossed his arms over his chest. "And I suppose you will want to go through all the necessary ceremonies."

Davos couldn't name a single necessary ceremony, but he nodded numbly. Better to get those over with, if they had to be done. 

Stannis sighed. "Then I shall begin arrangements accordingly." He turned, cloak snapping in the breeze, leaving Davos alone with his aching fingers, wondering what he had just agreed to.

**

Davos had been in Storm's End for weeks, but he'd rarely been left alone. He didn't think it was because it was feared he would make off with the silver, however much Stannis' grim uncle had eyed him suspiciously at table. 

Instead, it seemed to be that Stannis actually thought he had something useful to say. He had not yet figured out why the young lord always appeared to want him near, but he would oblige his new liege in any way he could. 

"Are you going to be knighted?" 

Davos looked around, unable to work out from where the child's voice was coming. 

"Up here." He looked up. Little Renly Baratheon was hanging half out of a window a foot about Davos' head. Before he could say anything, the child had wriggled over the sill and dropped fearlessly to the parapet a few feet below.

"Well, are you? Stannis gave you a knighthood, but are you going to be _knighted_?"

Davos' heart was still racing in his chest after witnessing Renly's leap and his mind was slow to parse this question. The lad was still frightfully thin, though not so gaunt as the brother. If not for his fine clothes and recently washed face, he could have passed for the children Davos had grown up among, though for him, a little hunger had seemed normal. 

"If your brother says I must be, then so be it."

"Stannis isn't a knight," Renly said. "He says it's faff and foolishness." 

Davos winced inwardly. Had he just readily agreed to faff and foolishness? His fingers throbbed. 

"I think he's wrong, though," Renly went on, oblivious to Davos' hesitation. "I can't wait until I'm old enough to be a knight. I think he just doesn't like tourneys, but I love them."

Renly's childish enthusiasm was relaxingly familiar to Davos in this odd place, so he decided to encourage it. "I have never been to a tourney. What is it that you like about them so much?"

"Well, I've never been to one either," he admitted, "but we must have one soon, to celebrate my brother's great victory. Robert loves tourneys; he's told me stories about the great ones he's been to. I like hearing about handsome knights and ladies in beautiful clothes and music and dancing. And the melee. I will have a war hammer and fight in the melee."

"Those all sound like fine things," Davos acknowledged. 

Renly nodded. "And if you get knighted, that's what you'll do. Dance with beautiful ladies."

Davos supposed that was something to look forward to, though he supposed there had to be more to it than that.

"Come to the library with me," Renly said, with the benevolent demand of a child who is rarely told no. "I will show you all the books with the best pictures of knights."

Davos didn't mind, for he liked children, and having some firmer image of knighthood would be useful. Renly led him confidently up stairways and down corridors he would never be able to retrace on his own. 

The library was a somewhat musty-smelling room with tall windows that let in lots of light. Davos paused in the doorway; he had never seen so many books in his life. Who had the time to read that much? 

Renly trotted straight to the shelf in question and pulled down a heavy volume, which he carried over to a table with the ease of one who has done this many times before. 

"This is Florian," Renly said. "His is a good story."

"Aye, they tell that one even to children in Fleabottom." Davos came over to sit beside him as he paged through the tale of Florian. It was lavishly illustrated, so Davos could see it was the same tale he knew. 

"It _is_ a good story," Renly agreed when they'd come to the end. "But knights should be noble. Like the Rainbow Knight." Leaving Florian's book on the table, he scurried off for another one, which he opened to exactly the correct page. "Here, I will read the story to you. 'Lady Shella was the daughter of a great stormlord. She was a maiden fair who had gained the attention of all the men in the land…" 

Davos listened patiently, trying to glean what he could, though he wasn't sure Renly was actually reading so much as reciting by heart a tale he'd been read many times. It was a straightforward tale of gallantry, and Davos could see why it appealed to Renly—there was a lot of sword-swinging.

"Renly, I hope you aren't bothering Ser Davos." 

Davos looked up to see old Maester Cressen standing over them. He smiled; he'd come to appreciate the man for the kindness he'd shown in treating Davos' wounds, all while making his fondness for Stannis obvious. 

"Not at all," he answered. "Lord Renly is giving me quite the education on knighthood."

Maester Cressen smiled. "Be that as it may, Lord Renly needs to see to his own lessons downstairs. Go down, Renly, and I'll be with you in a moment."

Renly sighed reluctantly and pushed the book away. 

After he left, Maester Cressen set to gathering up the discarded books. "Do you still have questions?" he asked. "I am sure his explanation of knighthood might have left something to be desired."

Davos rose and made his way to the nearest window. He needed a glimpse of the sea to feel truly centered. "I understand that I may not become a knight out of song, but I must confess my uncertainty that this is what I truly deserve."

"It is," Maester Cressen said calmly, "for Stannis has deemed it so, and I know no truer judge." 

Davos looked down at his shortened fingers and decided that the old man spoke the truth. "So there will be a ceremony?"

The maester nodded. "I am sure he doesn't welcome it, as he holds little with ceremony, but you must have it."

Davos nodded. "I suppose I must."

"Are you a man of faith, Davos?"

"As much as a sailor must be."

Maester Cressen smiled. "Then perhaps you will draw something from the ceremony." He began putting the books back on their shelves, seeming to know exactly where each went. "The ceremony is primarily religious in nature—I think most men forget that the origins of knighthood is inextricably linked with the Faith. The trappings remain—you can see from the Rainbow Knight, of course—but I think it has largely been forgotten. But some men choose not to be knighted to this day for reasons of faith."

"I see," Davos said, though he thought he had not the Stranger's hope of understanding. He would simply have to get through it the best way he knew how. 

**

Davos' ceremony was set for the next evening. He knew what to expect, for Maester Cressen had related the basics to him, but he couldn't say he understood why it was all necessary. 

He felt rather silly sitting in his rosewater bath, something which seemed to be a tremendous waste of both water and roses, but the septon had blessed the water, so he supposed he ought to appreciate it. After his hair and beard had been trimmed and he'd dressed in the clean new clothes he'd been given, he supposed he was as near to a knight as he would ever look. 

Stannis surprised him by appearing at the door to his room to escort him to the sept. 

"Forgive me, my lord, but I had heard it said you were not a religious man."

Stannis grunted. "Bet that as it may, I am still knighting you. I have certain obligations." He held out a swordbelt. "Let me gird you with this. My father's sword. I am sorry to give you something secondhand, but there isn't time to forge one for you."

Davos took a half step back in surprise. "Surely I don't need such a thing. I cannot take your father's sword. It ought to be yours." 

"I have my own sword, and there are others of Father's in the armory. I don't imagine you will ever need to use it, but a knight must have a sword when he is knighted." Heedless of further objections, Stannis fastened the belt about Davos' waist. 

Davos looked down at it, hanging heavy round his hips. "Thank you, my lord."

The sword banged against his legs as they made their way to the sept. Davos was highly conscious of this, even more so when Stannis stopped him to adjust the belt. He went the rest of the way with his hand on the pommel to keep it still.

Candles flickered in the sept, illuminating the faces of the septon, Maester Cressen, and Renly. Davos took a deep breath, fighting off his nerves. The long aisle of the sept seemed to stretch on forever; this sept could have fit the sept he frequented in Fleabottom three times over. 

The septon extended his hands. "Come forward, my son." 

Davos strode forward as deftly as he was able with his new counterweight, taking a clumsy knee in front of the septon before the altar of the Father. 

"I anoint you, Ser Davos, with the seven holy oils." Davos closed his eyes, because he felt awkward staring at the septon as he dipped his finger in the first bowl. 

"May you have the Mother's heart." He made the mark of the Mother on Davos' forehead, followed by the mark of each of the rest of the gods. "The wisdom of the Crone. The purity of the Maiden. The boldness of the Warrior. The strength of the Smith. May you not meet the Stranger before your time. And, above all, may you always act in the Father's justice." 

Davos opened his eyes, as the Septon lifted the crystal which hung on his belt. He swung it seven times over Davos' head. Stannis had averted his eyes. 

"May the Seven keep you always," the septon intoned. He rested his hands on Davos' head, and Davos tried to feel the gods through him, though he had always been more like to feel the gods outside the sept than within. 

"As you spend the night before the Father, open your mind to his guidance." The septon removed his hands from Davos' head, but he stayed kneeling. It felt like what he was supposed to do. 

When the heavy door to the sept was closed, Davos rose. Now that he was not under observation, he thought he might stretch his legs. This, he reflected, was the moment when less scrupulous of his friends and associates would go for the jewels, statues, and candleholders, and be gone in the night.

But Davos was smart enough to know that he'd stumbled into a situation that was better than anything he could ever dream of. Awkward though it might at times have been, he was old enough to know not to refuse the opportunity. 

He made a slow circuit of the sept, studying the other altars. They were more lavish than the simple carvings of his childhood sept; the gods' clothes were richly painted and they looked like people of this world. The images of the gods Davos had grown up with had been vague suggestions of people, which had always encouraged him to picture them as people he knew—the Father was his father, even though he had been a sickly man; the Maiden had been his eldest sister, even though she had been nothing of the sort. 

He stepped back. This would have been a pleasant place in the daylight, with the sun shining through the prismed windows. Davos had a sudden memory of a small, cozy sept, sitting in someone's lap, watching the rainbows play across the floor. 

He strode again up the aisle, trying to imagine the benches full, chatter rising to the ceiling. What might Storm's End be like when not under siege?

His hand came to rest on the sword at his side. Now, perhaps, under the big chandelier, he might get a good look at it.

He had the blade halfway out of its sheath when he was interrupted by bootsteps on the flags. 

"Be careful with that. If you are untrained, you risk losing more of yourself than you already have."

Davos jumped, and hastily jammed the sword back away. "I did not think I was to have company, my lord."

"You aren't. I wanted to see how you were getting on." There was a spark of something like amusement in Stannis' eye, but that might have been the dim light. "Nor are you supposed to speak."

Davos shrugged. "I don't suppose the gods would mind, if my heart was in it."

"Is that what you believe?" Stannis seated himself on a bench.

"I had not cause to think too deeply on it, in truth. I do keep the gods, but I confess I am not able to visit a sept regularly."

"So, you will swear your vows before the Warrior?"

Davos paused. "I thought I might choose the Smith if it were all the same, my lord. I'll never not be a sailor, and the Smith has been good to me all these years."

"Aye, you won't be. It is a sailor I need, not another young fool with a sword."

Something that Davos had been wondering at for the past few days came suddenly to mind and before he could think better of it, the question was asked. "Why did you not take vows, my lord?"

Stannis leaned back against the back of the bench. His shoulders were taut, like rigging drawn fast. "I don't suppose it matters. My title is lord. Taking a knighthood seems extraneous. Some men do it out of religious devotion, surely, or because they want the glory of being a ser, but I have desired neither."

"Little Renly seems to want to be a knight."

"Aye, and he will most likely choose that path, like our brother did."

"The king was knighted?"

"Aye, he was, though he was already a lord. That was surely for the glory of it. Robert is no more pious than I."

Davos looked down at his hands. Perhaps if he thought of it as a matter of faith, he would be more comfortable with it. "But then what must I do, after I have sworn those vows?"

Stannis rose. "Then I will put you to work. This is our bargain, yours and mine. I have raised you to this position, given you lands so that your family may live in comfort. In return, I hope you will serve me well. It is all that I could do to thank you for what you did."

Davos shrugged. "It was only what was right, my lord."

"Aye, and too few men would have done it." He stopped beside Davos and he thought he might say something else but seemed to think better of it. "If you like, I can show you how to safely handle the sword. I cut myself on that very blade when I was Renly's age. Father gave me no other punishment for he said my first meeting with live steel had been punishment enough. Even if you never learn to use it, you might learn to handle it. Your son might wield it one day."

Davos' first thought was that this was unlikely, but then he remembered that his sons were now the sons of a landed knight; they had a name now and his eldest would be his heir. Surely the heir of a knight must learn formal swordsmanship. 

"I would like that very much, my lord."

Stannis nodded. "I will leave you to your reflections, Davos. May the Seven illuminate something for you, whatever it is you may be wondering. I have heard they will do that for some, if not for me."

Davos watched him go and as he turned back to gaze at the Father, he thought he had indeed had something illuminated for him.


End file.
